Incite to anger
by Ryu Kasai
Summary: Fawkes has been been tricked, lied to, manipulated, compelled, and subjugated one too many times. Here is his take on the allmighty Dumbledore, and how he always manages to get his way. Complete One shot, precursor to the Gilded Dreams series.


All right. No matter how much I wish it were so, the characters in this story are the sole property, yadda yadda yadda, legal stuff, of J.K. Rowling.

AN: Flame me if you wish, this is my very firstest fic, so I could use all the criticism I can get. I'm working on a series called Gilded Dreams which will hopefully be mildly readable. This one-shot takes place in the same universe as the series, just from a differing POV.

_Fawkes speaks with Dumbledore/thinks in italics.  
_**Dumbledore thinks in bold.**  
_  
_

Incite to Wrath

Fawkes was immensely annoyed.

In fact, one could go so far as to say he was pissed off.

Now, the general attitude which the plebian held toward phoenixes was similar to the attitude with which the Weaselys were regarded. The flaming feathers, or hair in the case of the family, were held to signify a short temper and impulsive nature. The Weasely Matron was a prime example of this, flying off the handle before her mind could rationally sort out the facts. The same held for the Ron child, who let his jealousy override the calm needed for his gift of strategy.

While this stereotype held true for the humans, it was utter bunk in the case of the Phoenix species. It took a very, very long time to anger one of the birds. In fact, among those few humans who actually gave a damn about fact over sensationalism, it was generally held that inciting them to rage was an impossibility.

After fifteen years of observing the life of one Harry Potter, boy wizard and abuse victim extraordinaire, Fawkes was a living example of how utterly wrong they were. He had a decision to make, one which should be contemplated with the peaceful, calm logic generally inherent in his species. Annoyingly, he grasped for that serenity as successfully as a child reaching upward to grasp the moon.

...

Each year past the deposit of the scarred baby on his relative's doorstep, Fawkes made his report to Albus of the neglect suffered by the child at their hands. The old man gravely heard him out, and per their routine silenced the avian's calm objections by restating that the bird was free to report to the Phoenix Elders. They had the power to relocate and protect the child, and Fawkes knew he would learn much under their wings.

Then the insidious fog would creep in, the opalescent swirl of colors gently emanating from the Headmaster, distracting Fawkes and twining gently about his mind, convincing him that the boy was happy, healthy, loved… all was well… the Headmaster knew best. The great man would smile, gently run his hand over the now crooning phoenix, and politely request a gentle lullaby. Fawkes was glad to oblige, the feedback from his bonded soothing him to sleep, allowing the tendrils of magic to settle firmly about his thoughts. For another year he would happily play second fiddle to the great wizard, secure in the knowledge that the wizarding world was in capable hands.

When Harry arrived at school, a thin, fragile first year whose large green eyes dominated his small pale face, Fawkes felt the magic of the school thrum in time to the boy's racing, birdlike heartbeat. This child had an even greater accord with magic than Albus. It sang as it whirled about him, eager to dance forth at his behest. It longed to move through him, even if it had to be channeled through the ineffective wand he bore. Wait… that wand… something about it was wrong. Twisted, controlled. He felt the kinship which meant it contained a feather taken from him, but there was something else, something tainted…

"Fawkes? What is it? You seem agitated, are you approaching a burning day?"

_No. There is something wrong with the wand born by the Potter child. _

They were seated at the head table presiding over the opening feast. Fawkes looked out over the mass of chattering children, his regal pose unappreciated due to his current invisible status.

"Hmmm… can you tell exactly what the problem is?"

_For one thing, the child should never have been given that wand in the first place. It is unsuited to his magic, and will severely limit his abilities. For another… _

"For another? What else have you sensed?"

The phoenix contemplated the sensations he was receiving, the message which the frustrated magic gave off every time it brushed past the child.

_For another, the wand has been tampered with. I need to speak with my Elders to find anything more._

"You know that you are always free to leave. Now, what think you of the Malfoy child? Has he begun to follow the path of…"

The colors about Albus began to swirl again. The magical bird quickly lost any concern over Harry. The boy had a wand with one of his feathers in it… that was an honor, and an unexpected pleasure. Rainbows danced before Fawkes eyes, and the boy and wand seemed well matched for one another. Really, it was the best fit for a wand that the bird had seen in many a sorting. He was puzzled by the odd laugh which shook the Headmaster when he informed him of that fact.

...

The next several years seemed to pass in a haze of opalescent, waltzing rainbows. Sometimes they appeared to mirror the patterns of the Headmaster's robe, other times they overshadowed faces and the ever present swirls of magic.  
...

One moment of clarity came at the end of Potter's second year. Magic screamed in agony, transmitting an image of the boy in a Saalzar's chamber with such force that it blew away every last vestige of the clouding fog overshadowing Fawkes mind. Knowing that he would soon be entrapped again, the bird grabbed the nearest object of power and sped toward the dungeons. He aided the desperate fight against the basilisk, reveling in the sensation, the slight resistance followed by oozing body matter yielded by the destruction of the eye. Fawkes poured all of his sorrow, his regret and shame at being manipulated, into the healing tears he poured onto Harry's poisoned wound.

A mist crept into the cavern, gently wrapping the phoenix in dazzling flickers of magic, lulling him again into a dreamy state of incomprehension. He felt a slight weight on his tail feathers, but disregarded it in favor of following the tantalizing, elusive, teasing presence before him.

Time drifted past, events intangible and reality bearing the consistency of a cloud. Another shock of magic partially tore Fawkes from his stupor; it seemed important somehow, something to do with the wands bearing his feathers… images wavered and danced before his vision. The Potter child was suddenly seated in Dumbledore's office, his aura of pain reaching even the magic befuddled mind of the phoenix, prompting a reassuring trill. He felt the source of pain nearby, and after brief bemused contemplation, gently shed tears atop the weeping flesh. There was something else, something important… there was nothing else, nothing but the mesmerizing mist. Cotton candy, sugary sweet, wrapped stickily about the mind.

Gradually, the confusion lessened. The old man was distracted, unable to devote the same intensity of magic as usual. The thick fog gave way to swirling mists, which occasionally parted to grant glimpses of startling clarity. A toad-like woman… arguments… suppressed rage… frustration of delicate plans. A confrontation; the Potter boy yet again, thankfully uninjured this time. A sensation of soaring, the slight tug of tail feathers. Brief immersion in cloying fog; growing sickly rather than tantalizing. A strange environment… oddly familiar. It bore the feeling, so familiar… that of the Potter boy, but not. Similar, but old, it had the taint of death and sacrifice upon it.

...

Albus was distracted. A small portion of Fawkes mind grasped his all important fact, and attempted to take the opportunity presented. He gently eased the tendrils from their presence in his mind, working with a desperately gentle touch, so as not to alert the man to his actions. Nothing remained but one small knot of magic, clinging desperately to the base of the avian's neck. Caught up in the giddy rush of impending freedom, Fawkes threw caution to the wind; he mentally reached out and _pulled_.

A collar of magic solidified about his neck, chokingly tight and glinting n a warped parody of the beautiful rainbow which had once permeated Albus' magic. A tug signaled the existence of a thick, coarse rope of magic leading from the collar to the tightly grasping, wizened hand of the phoenix's bonded human. Another sharp tug summoned the avian to the old man's presence. Fawkes circled at the utmost height allowed him, frantically attempting to devise a way out of Dumbledore's clutches.

_Old man, I wish I had never consented to join you. _

Unfortunately, the twitch of surprise at being addressed after so long failed to get Albus killed. He danced about, speaking and dueling, while another corner of his mind distractedly dealt with the troublesome bird.

"Why do you not trust me? I love you dearly, my fiery child, and merely prevented you from rushing to your death."

_The phoenix elders would have killed me all those years ago? I find that extremely hard to believe. _

"It was best for the boy to remain where he was. While you are dearest to me, he is next in my heart's regard, and his relatives were the safest possible haven."

_Haven? HAVEN?_ _He was abused, neglected, starved… and you didn't do a damn thing about it, you manipulative bastard._

"It was best for him, and for the wizarding world. They need a savior well versed in suffering and intolerance. Had he been raised by a magical family, he would consider his duty discharged, and turn his back on the society which spurned him. This way he will protect us, for we are his only hope, the only love he has."

_You utter, manipulative, sneaky, immoral, utter, utter… WANK! How dare you sentence a child to that hellish fate. You also dared to interfere with a member of the highest circle of phoenix. You created a group of minions in mockery of our society, as some sort of a private joke over my subjugation._

"The Order was a symbol of my utmost love…"

_And regard for me. I know the spiel. Kindly cease nauseating me with it. I demand that you release me from our bond this very moment, or suffer the wrath of an entire species upon your head. _

"My child, you know I cannot do that. You are far safer with me…"

_Then I will end it myself. _

"You cannot. It only ends with mutual consent or sacrificial death, the first of which I will not grant, and the second I will not allow. I love you too much for…"

The rest faded into a haze, this time formed of fiery magic and sheer, pissed off determination. That was the key.

"'_Look out!' _Harry yelled.

But even as he shouted, one more jet of green light had flown at Dumbledore from Voldemort's wand and the snake had struck----

Fawkes swooped down in front of Dumbledore, opened his beak wide, and swallowed the jet of green light whole. He burst into flame and fell to the floor, small, wrinkled, and flightless…. For the first time, Dumbledore sounded frightened. Harry could not see why. The hall was quite empty save for themselves, the sobbing Bellatrix still trapped under her statue, and the tiny baby Fawkes croaking feebly on the floor----"

He was free.

Any joy which threatened to fill the phoenix was utterly negated by the next target of the rainbow mists. The power once devoted to Albus' familiar now oozed across the room to settle heavily about Potter's trembling form. Interestingly, while outwardly appearing to utterly subjugate the child to Dumbledore's will, the magic failed miserably in ensnaring his inner motivations. Even more intriguing was the complete lack of awareness Albus showed toward this development. Had he known, he would have appeared anything but triumphant.

To prevent the gloating old man from examining the child any further, Fawkes cheeped piteously upward. He noted with deep, searing anger the matching smirk and glint of victory present in the ancient aqua eyes. The old man sent Harry back to his office, dealt with the Ministry officials, and then prompted another wave of righteous ire by appearing to contemplate before plucking Fawkes from the cold surface of the hall floor.

...

"He did not look at Harry at first, but walked over to the perch beside the door and withdrew, from an inside pocket of his robes, the tiny, ugly, featherless Fawkes, whom he placed gently on the tray of soft ashes beneath the golden post where the full-grown Fawkes usually stood. "

_Let the battle begin, Old Man. _

Briefly surprised by the lack of response, Fawkes realized with a sudden jolt that his thoughts were now entirely his own. This was going to be… interesting….

"'Well, Harry,' said Dumbledore, finally turning away from the baby bird, 'you will be pleased to hear that none of your fellow students are going to suffer lasting damage from the night's events.'"

The magic shone and twisted, forcing Harry's thoughts into acceptance of the statement, warping his perceptions into the desired mold.

"Harry tried to say 'Good,' but no sound came out."

Fawkes interjected his own fire into the child, burning away the mist, attempting to grand him clarity of thought.

"…Harry could not bear to meet his eyes…. he contented himself with nodding at the carpet."

**That… that chicken will not interfere with me, **thought the mighty Albus, **I will guide this tool on the path I have chosen… for the good of society, of course. **

"'I know how you are feeling, Harry,' said Dumbledore very quietly.

"'No, you don't,' said Harry, and his voice was suddenly loud and strong. White-hot anger leapt inside him. Dumbledore knew _nothing_ about his feelings."

_Nothing. He knows nothing. You are your own person, Harry, and you live for yourself and no one else. I can't hold out like this indefinitely… this close to burning, I don't have the sheer power and stamina I need. But I can leave a seed, an aid, something which Albus will never pick up on… _

While Dumbledore wove his web of half truths and persuasions about Harry, Fawkes busied himself in protecting the boy's soul from the old man's machinations. Rather than warp or alter the child further, he provided a quick burning, limitless fuel which Harry's own natural emotions could feel on. The moment Dumbledore pushed his compulsions one millimeter too far into the boy's soul, his emotions would flare up and burn away the mist.

Knowing full well the risk of the three way fight between Fawkes, Dumbledore's, and Harry's personalities, the Phoenix pulled gently from the boy's mind.

_Now to sit back and watch the show. _

**The bird is gone… good riddance. It should know not to challenge my benevolent wrath. Now to prep the child for his role. **

_That git. The child is a human, not a bloody weapon. _

**Hmm… with my power in place, I might as well go for a bit of melodrama. Harry will suck it up at this point. **

_Is that a tear? It is! He's actually pretending to cry! Bah. I can't take it any more. Harry can fend for himself for a bit, and I need to get out of here before I torch the self-styled leader of the wizarding world. I also need advice on what to do about that wand… something about it is utterly tainted. Bastard Headmaster. _

With a final disgusted croak, Fawkes summoned the magic exclusive to his species, and transported himself beyond the pitiful human wards. He had a council of Elders to face, and they were not going to be pleased.


End file.
